Mornings Like That
by FuyuSarah
Summary: She hears the front door open. It shuts with a soft click that somehow permeates the bedroom walls. And then there is silence. Never has their apartment been as loud. [Same universe as "Mornings Like This", but can be read independently.]
A/N: I am drowning in feels because of Inkkerfuffle's "Without You". Thanks for destroying my heart, Bee. (But also putting it back together.)

This is in the same Married!Adrienette universe as "Mornings Like This". You can read it after this one, if you haven't yet. That one's fluff. This one is not. Brace yourselves. Angst is coming.

Beta'd by watashiwaweebdesu. Originally posted on tumbr. Standard disclaimers apply.

For AsiaMoonField and theolims.

* * *

When Marinette wakes up, there is a dull throbbing on her throat and her temples. She knows that it's from straining to keep herself from crying.

Despite having only just woken up, her limbs are stiff, as if they'd been tense and rigid the whole night. They probably had been, from trying not to move from her position, facing her nightstand and her back to…the other side of the bed. The blanket is still wrapped around her, but her skin feels cold.

She is aware of these sensations, yet she feels numb.

She extends her awareness beyond her, and she immediately knows, without looking, that the other side of the bed is empty. It is then that she hears the water running in the kitchen and dining utensils being put away.

Her eyes find the clock on her nightstand. It's five-thirty in the morning. Adrien still has lots of time before he needs to leave for his fitting. Maybe he's just having an early breakfast, and then he'll come back into the room to start preparing for the day. She doesn't know if she's anxious or relieved.

She hears the front door open. It shuts with a soft click that somehow permeates the bedroom walls.

And then there is silence.

Never has their apartment been as loud.

* * *

Last night, Ladybug and Chat Noir moved together seamlessly, setting aside their fight in order to put Paris first. They're a team, always, even when they don't particularly feel like a couple. For Paris, it's a good thing. For Marinette, it's terrifying.

This is something she wishes to never get used to, but the fact is: it's nothing new, really. Like all other couples, they have arguments every once in a while. Sometimes, things get fixed immediately. Sometimes, it takes a little longer. But they never go to sleep without at least calmly talking things out.

That wasn't the case last night.

* * *

She'd told him, years before, that allowing yourself to cry is not a sign of weakness. It takes courage to let masks fall, to admit that you need help, that you need love. He'd nodded, then, burying himself into her neck as she threaded her hands into his hair. Since then, they'd helped each other choose to be brave.

She is a weak coward, today.

* * *

She keeps her phone within her line of sight all day as she works. She jumps whenever it vibrates. Messages come from Alya, from Nino; her parents, her colleagues; some random telemarketer offering loans with easy payment terms.

Adrien doesn't text her.

She knows he has a full day. They'd been talking about it for a couple of weeks, about how it will only be one day, and he'd be actually starting at a decent hour, but the load will be _hell_ until well past midnight. They'd looked at his schedule, and Marinette had mourned that it looked like a whole week had been packed into twenty hours—will he even have time to breathe? He'd mourned that he probably wouldn't have time to text her. She'd scolded him that if he had to choose between texting her and taking a moment to breathe and steady himself, she'd prefer he do the latter. He'd said that texting her _is_ taking a moment to breathe and steady himself.

And then he'd waggled his eyebrows at her, joking about how she should at least _try_ to not miss him terribly, although he's sure she'll crave for his presence. She'd rolled her eyes, playfully shoving his shoulder, saying that she'll manage; who does he think she is? He'd wrapped himself around her, murmuring on her skin that she's spunky Marinette, she's strong Ladybug—she's his Lady, his Princess, his love, his heart, his oxygen, his very _life._

But, in this moment, Marinette feels like she is nothing _._

* * *

But she _is_ Ladybug. She is the Saviour of Paris.

Or one of them, at least.

When night falls, she beckons Tikki and swings over rooftops. There's a mugger that she scares off—she's unable to catch them, but at least the potential victim is safe. She saves a drunk citizen from hitting their head on the pavement. There's a young girl's cat, stuck in a tree, that she coaxes back to safe ground.

She encounters an akuma. Quite luckily, she sees it right at the exact moment that the item absorbs the evil, so she's able to snatch it, destroy it, and purify it before anything even happens. Before Chat Noir is even needed.

And then the city is safe yet again.

She is Ladybug, the fierce Saviour of Paris.

She has never felt so weak.

* * *

Even as Adrien, he is as stealthy as a cat, without trying. His footsteps are quiet and his keys don't make a sound. But, even so, she always knows when he arrives. She _feels_ him before he opens the door.

Sometimes, she quickly hides, waiting for the precise time to jump out and scare the wits out of him. He'd yelp, and she'd laugh, and he'd pout and tickle her until she's breathless and flushed.

Tonight, he stands outside the door longer than usual. Maybe he's preparing himself to face her.

Well, good, because she's preparing herself to face him, too.

The door finally opens and, for some inexplicable reason, Marinette buries her nose in her book. Walls she didn't know she even _had_ go up, and her body involuntarily angles towards the window.

She can feel him hesitating in the doorway.

She can hear her own voice in her head.

 _What the hell are you doing?! You've waited up for him, and now he's RIGHT THERE! Go to him! Kiss him! Talk to to him!_

He takes a step towards her. Then a step back. Another forward and another back.

There is a pause.

And then his footstep is _audible_ towards her—

Her back tenses, and if she had hackles, they would be raised.

—and he exhales. It is an exhausted, wounded sound.

He closes the door behind him. Puts his things down. Shuffles into the shower.

She gets up. Puts her book away. Goes to their room to turn down the bed.

* * *

The bed is ready, but it looks _wrong_.

She stands there in the dark, staring at it. She's staring at his pillows, specifically. What if he comes and takes them so he can sleep on the couch? With her _warm_ welcome after his long, unquestionably tiring day, she actually wouldn't blame him.

Couples do that, right—sleep apart? It's…It's healthy if it's just every once in a while, isn't it?

Marinette rejects that thought, banishes it with every fibre of her being.

Finally, a sob escapes her throat.

"Marinette…"

She whirls around at his gentle voice. Her arms open without restraint, simultaneously _allowing_ him to approach and _begging_ him to do so. In the next heartbeat, he's there. He's warm and solid, and they cling to each other in a mess of apologies and promises.

"I'm sorry—"

"I love you—"

"Never leave me—"

"I'm here for you—"

" _Always_."

* * *

When the sun rises, Marinette wakes up. Her limbs are exhausted, her throat is still tight, and her eyes are swollen. She knows that she must look horrendously hideous.

But Her Kitty is beside her, and Adrien loves her.

She melts back into his embrace.

Never has she felt more beautiful.


End file.
